Still

There’s a photograph in a box
In a bottom drawer
That smells of Ikea
Full of towels we forget are there
With a locket containing
A strand of your hair

There’s a photograph in a box
Which I carried home
From the hospital
Past pregnant girls smoking and smiling
In NHS nightgowns
Next to the no smoking sign

There’s a photograph in a box
Which I haven’t opened
Since I held you
At a 45 degree angle I can’t straighten
And saw the midwife cry
As she wrapped you up

There’s a photograph in a box
Which she brought back
After she took you
To weigh you and dress you
In clothes we bought before we knew
That we never saw you wear

There’s a photograph in a box
Taken too many hours later
When I asked where you were
And she said somewhere cold
So even though it’s Black and White
You look black and blue

There’s a photograph in a box
Which she showed us
As a precaution
To remind us what you looked like
And to make us decide
You were better off there

There’s a photograph in a box
Which would prove
What goes through my mind
When I look in the mirror
And see your upper lip
And my ginger hair

There’s a photograph in a box
In a bottom drawer
In a room
Like any other
Waiting for you
To have a sister or a brother

There’s a photograph
In a box
Still